Daddy's Hands
by tiinaj1
Summary: A series of reflections by Don on his relationship with his Dad. Based on the song "Daddy's Hands" by Holly Dunn
1. Chapter 1

**Daddy's Hands**

Rating: K - should be safe for most everyone age 10+.

An introduction - There is a country song called _Daddy's Hands_ sung by Holly Dunn. This song has been in my head the last few days and I knew that I needed to write out the story that's been coming together in my head. The story is written from Don's POV and I hope it touches you as much as it has me. I am also probably going to write the story from Charlie's POV eventually.

Disclaimer – This applies toward all chapters of this story. These characters are not mine. Also, the song _Daddy's Hands_ is not mine either, it's just a song that touches my heart. The lyrics to the song are posted one verse at a time per chapter and I have posted the entire song at the end of the last chapter for those of you that want all the lyrics to the song.

**Chapter 1 - Calluses**

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.  
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.  
You could read quite a story, in the calluses and lines.  
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.

My father's hands have always seemed so strong. They would hold me up high so I could touch the ceiling, catch me when he told me to jump and hold me tight when I needed his strength.

At dinner he would hold my hand in his right and my brother's in his left and with my mom would complete the circle that was our family. Even though we were not a religious family, he had always led us in the family prayers at dinner and provided that comforting presence that was Love. **His hands comforted me.**

I remember sitting on his lap and studying his hand. The strength of his hand in mine made me feel safe and secure. The feel of the veins standing out on the back of his hand seemed to feel like a rope binding me to him. The softness of his hand felt comforting and the feel of the muscles beneath the skin told me that he would always be there for me. **His hands gave me security.**

I remember studying the calluses and cuts on his hands from the hours of yard work and the endless jobs that Mom found for him to do around the house. The swing of the hammer as we repaired the roof, the grasp on the handle of the rake as he raked up all the leaves from the huge oak tree in front of the house and the kindness they displayed while helping our neighbor next door when her husband lay in the hospital after having a heart attack. **His hands taught me to care for others.**

I watched my Dad as he gently held my mother's fragile hand as she lay dying and I knew that he gave her strength as only he could – he held her hand and gently rubbed his thumb over her tender skin, while he spoke encouraging words to her and told her he was there for her and to do what she needed to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gentleness & Pride**

I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,  
and patted my back, for something done right.  
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,  
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

My father's hands were encouraging, gentle and kind.

I remember sitting on the stairs with my brother, our chins cradled in our hands attached to arms that leaned on our knees. We would watch as my father would cradle our mother in his arms and twirl her around the room. His hands would hold her close as he leaned in for a gentle kiss and her face would light up as he whispered in her ear. **His hands taught me tenderness.**

I remember the feel of Dad's hand as he taught me to hold a bat. He showed me by placing his strong hands over mine as he showed me where to place my hands. He corrected my stance with one hand on my shoulder while using his other to move my leg to a better position or lifting my elbow so the bat would connect with the ball and send it clear out to left field. **His hands gave me gentle correction.**

I remember Dad's hands putting my first trophy on the mantel then resting on my shoulders as he beamed with pride.

I remember watching my Dad as he held my mother tight as she cried from the pain. The gentle rubbing of her back and quiet murmurs as he sought to give her relief and comfort. The strong arms and shoulders, that usually gave support to my brother and I, shook with sobs after my mother fell asleep in exhaustion. **The hours that I watched my Dad's hands cradle her close showed me his strength and deep abiding love for my mother.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Direction**

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.  
Daddy´s hands were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.  
Daddy´s hands weren´t always gentle  
but I´ve come to understand.  
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

My father's hands were firm and gave me direction. They held my little brother when he was just born with a gentleness and a tenderness that were reflected on his face. I watched as one of his hands would cradle his head and the other would support his butt and his lower back and I knew that Charlie would know the strength of my Dad's hands too.

I remember his hands shaking as he reached out to me when I fell out of that big oak tree and bruised nearly every bone in my body. The look of panic and then relief when he realized that I hadn't broken any bones, or worse. The feeling of gentleness as he carried me inside to the couch. My tears were gently wiped away and then my head was cradled in one of his large hands and a kiss was brushed across my forehead. **Those hands reflected my father's emotions.**

As I held his hand I studied each finger and felt the strength of his grip as he held me tightly to him. Those fingers could touch with gentleness as they wiped away a tear and yet those same fingers instilled a feeling of fear when they gripped my shoulder in warning.

I remember sitting on my bed waiting for my Dad to come up to discipline me. My hands would start to tremble as I stared at them. I remember looking at his hands as he would sit beside me and knowing that soon those hands would be the cause of pain that I didn't want. But the look of disappointment and sorrow on his face would make me feel worse than what I knew was coming.

I remember being surprised when those strong hands would lift me and instead of laying me across his knee he would instead sit me on his lap and hold me close to him as I would cry and say I was sorry over and over. **Those hands showed me compassion and mercy when I didn't deserve it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sacrifice**

I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.  
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.  
If I could do things over I'd live my life again.  
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

I watch my father's hands as they hold my mother's still hand. His head falls to rest on their hands as the tears come from deep within. His hands have held her, loved her, supported her, encouraged her, comforted her but they could not keep her secure from pain and death.

As he sits beside her bed I notice that his hands look old and careworn. There are lines there I don't remember from when I was a child and they seem fragile.

I sit and stare at my hands. The hands that once held my father's hand are now bigger and covered with their own calluses, cuts and lines. And I wonder if my hands have shown others the same sense of pride, tenderness, encouragement, care, love and security that his gave me.

These hands have done things that do not make me feel proud. I have used them to hurt others to protect those that are not as strong as I am. I have used them to kill men and women that deserved to die. Their blood is on my hands and it makes me sad. **My father tells me that my hands are saving lives.**

These hands have pushed and prodded, shoved and shaken my brother Charlie. I don't understand why he hides when others need him. I have used them to hurt him when I'd rather protect him and I feel shame. **My father tells me that I would not use my hands if I did not love him and wasn't concerned for him.**

These hands have ached with fatigue and pain as I continue to improve my shooting, combat skills and write reports that never end. I have pushed myself to be the best so that I can help others in need. I have lost myself in my work and then drink to oblivion to ignore the sorrow and loneliness that my job has given me. **My father tells me I care too much about others and not enough about myself.**

Will these hands ever hold my own child, someone to teach how to hold a ball and how to show compassion to those in need? Will they ever cradle a wife and show her how much I love her with the same deep abiding love my father showed my mother? Will they reflect the strength of my convictions, the tenderness of my emotions, and my contentment with life?

My heart's desire is to have someone to hold, to love, to caress with my hands. Someone just like my father had – my mother and our family.

The end.

**D****addy's Hands by Holly Dunn**

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.  
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.  
You could read quite a story, in the calluses and lines.  
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.

I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,  
and patted my back, for something done right.  
There are things that I've forgotten, that I loved about the man,  
But I'll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin'.  
Daddy's hands, were hard as steel when I'd done wrong.  
Daddy´s hands, weren't always gentle  
But I´ve come to understand.  
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.  
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.  
If I could do things over, I'd live my life again.  
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.  
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I'd done wrong.  
Daddy´s hands, weren't always gentle  
But I've come to understand.  
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin'.  
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I'd done wrong.  
Daddy´s hands, weren't always gentle  
But I've come to understand.  
There was always love...  
In Daddy's hands.


End file.
